


Love and the Thug Life

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Falling In Love, M/M, Mild Smut, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: But every single time he did that, his confidence and faith on Jim’s messages and calls eroded just a little bit
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 21





	Love and the Thug Life

**Author's Note:**

> Poem by Dallas Jozwick

You drank to escape and to ease  
Instead your desires clouded your soul  
The whimper shouts from the inside to stay still  
To sleep alone another night  
To stay good and do what's right  
Is ignored as your demon is above my shoulder  
And your whisper is in my ear

  
As you wait till silence marks my lips  
That is when you make your slay and cause me to slip  
Surrounded by darkness, defenselessness  
You suffocate my pleads of no  
As you trick yourself into illusions of my conscious consent  
And you shame me down

  
My mind absent as you expose my lifeless, bare body  
And my blank stare  
Did you see my eyes?  
They were speaking to you,  
Asking why!

***

“Sherly???”

“Hmmmggghhhmnnn???”

“Why are you mooing like a buffalo?”

“Do you know what time is it?”

“I dunno. I never lived by the clock. What time is it?”

Sherlock sat up to check the clock, bleary eyed and scowling at the disturbance but unable to say anything to Jim. For Jim Moriarty, famous criminal mastermind, had gone legit recently. A pact carefully drawn up with the Holmes brothers which gave him a clean chit and a new identity, the same one he used to terrorize Sherlock, Richard Brooke. In exchange he was to give up his criminal work, send off all his aides in exile with lucrative retirement packages and, most importantly, surrender his client list so the Holmes brothers could exterminate those social pests across the world.

The upside was that they had saved a brilliant mind from self-destructing and taking half the world down with himself. On the downside, Sherlock and Mycroft had to babysit him since Jim, with a lot of free time on his hands, was constantly restless and frequently drawn to crime. “Where did ya go?” Jim giggled, “Ohhh…. Well, let me check the time then…. It says, ‘time doesn’t matter when you have a lot to do’.”

“Does it now Jim? Oh Jesus, it’s 4 am. That means I have slept only 2 hours.”

Jim sounded like an excited child as he rattled off. “I called to tell you that I saw a huuuuuge diamond at a museum today. It must be worth at least fifty fucking million quid huh? The Global Diamond Display, vintage diamonds, blue diamonds, pink diamonds, dazzling diamonds, recently polished diamonds, historical diamonds, oh so tempting diamonds, so many of them, so many diamonds to look at……”

“Jim?? What are you trying to say?”

“……So many diamonds to steal, if I am telling you the truth.”

Sherlock gripped his hair and pulled at it in frustration. The man was about to lapse, commit a crime, blow into smithereens all their efforts at legitimizing him and making him the new man that he was, not the notorious consulting criminal James Moriarty.

“You stay right there. I am on my way. Just stay put till I come over, don’t even move from that spot, whatever spot you are sitting or standing on.”

“I am on the treadmill.”

Sherlock sighed. Jim was making it very difficult for him. At 4 am on the treadmill, what was wrong with the Irishman?!? “Okay then, go to the bedroom and be there. I will be there in thirty minutes tops. You won’t go out anywhere, you will stay in the bedroom and wait for me. Is that understood?”

“I swear dear Sherlylocks,” Jim’s voice grew husky and thick, it acquired a wicked tone, “You will find me right where you want me to.”

Sherlock drove at breakneck speed and arrived at Jim’s apartment in twenty five minutes. When he entered the bedroom, his eyes popped out almost as he saw a leering and naked Jim on the bed, all ready and glistening with baby oil. “What the heck Jim…..” Sherlock began when Jim stopped him and rolled over to expose his lily white arse. “I think you have some sausage that I might be hungry for,” the Irishman said shamelessly, wriggling his bum.

“You could have just said you want me here.”

“And you would have come running?”

“Not exactly but then…..”

“Okay so it’s a booty call. Come over here”

Sherlock wasn’t really averse to following that order and as he sank into Jim’s tight heat, groaning loudly and reveling in the soft moans and whines he drew out of Jim, one thing became pretty clear to him. Jim now had him on a leash! And every time the man called out to him, for help or for fulfilment, he would come running no matter what he was up to or the time of the day or night.

***

“Sherlylocks….”

“Jim? I am in the middle of a case.”

“Sherly I am….” Jim hesitated and his voice sounded stiff, pained, weak. A sinking feeling occurred in Sherlock’s stomach and the sleuth quickly asked John if he could continue surveying the surroundings and checking on the body while he had to take this ‘important’ call.

“And important call?” John was bewildered, “During a case? Is it from Mrs. Holmes or Mycroft? What else could be that important?”

Sherlock was already off, trying to speak to Jim who was making odd noises by then. “Hey, hey, keep talking to me, are you hurt, are you injured?” Sherlock asked, trying not to sound nervous even though he felt icicles forming in his spine, “Are you in the Conduit Street apartment?”

“No, the one on Mayfair Road.”

“I will be there.”

“Sherly I am bleeding.”

Sherlock got into a taxi this time as he hadn’t brought his car, a car Jim had gifted him as a ‘truce’ present. It was a fast, swanky and gorgeous Maserati which, according to Sherlock, was totally out of place at Baker Street. But he had kept it otherwise Jim would be very upset and upsetting Jim and setting him off on a destructive or criminal path was the opposite of what he and his brother wanted. As he drove he began to imagine all kinds of scenarios – Jim had been stabbed by a former rival or client, Jim had been shot by some assassin hired by a jealous ex-aide, Jim had been poisoned by the vengeful partner of a crime boss who was behind the bars now because Jim had given Mi6 their coordinates. It could be anything.

“Please please please please please let him be okay,” Sherlock prayed as he got out of the taxi just before Jim’s townhouse and rushed inside, startling the butler who had answered the door. He realized he was praying, something he hadn’t done in a while.

“He’s in the den,” the butler called out after him as he started to ascend the stairs to the first floor, where the bedrooms were.

“Okay,” Sherlock said, taking a right turn and heading for the designated room. He wasn’t sure what state he would find him in and his stomach was doing backflips, his throat felt clogged.

“I just served tea there,” the butler was following him, “I made some tea for you too sir. The master told me you like it with milk and sugar so I made you some nice, strong English breakfast tea. Do you want some scones with that or……”

“WHAT?!?”

The butler got a start at that. He shrugged and scuttled off into the kitchen without a further word, possibly shocked at Sherlock’s reaction to something as simple as ‘tea’. Little did he know what Sherlock felt at that moment, the anger and frustration.

Sherlock burst into the den and found Jim sitting before his PlayStation. Before Sherlock could even say a word Jim pointed at the game he was playing and said, “You are too late. I ran out of lives and finally just bled to death.”

“James Isaac Moriarty what is wrong with you? You lied to me. I was in the middle of a fucking case, God damn it!!!”

“I didn’t really lie,” Jim winked, “I just didn’t tell you whether I am bleeding for real.” Then, noticing Sherlock’s obvious anger and shock and frustration, Jim calmly patted the spot beside him and said, “Come on, if you’re here then you might as well have some tea with me and then, if you so wish, we can have some fun.”

  
“I don’t believe this…..” Sherlock began when Jim stopped him by patting his own arse. “Hey Sherly, I have a fat butt plug in there. Just to make things smoother and easier for you.”

They ended up having sex on the floor and the butler served their tea in the sitting room instead of the den.

***

A few days passed and once again a situation occurred. Sherlock, Mycroft, John, Anthea and Lestrade were at Mycroft’s office, dissecting a case that had just been partially solved and partially lost. Solved because the threat to England had been removed and lost because one of the two cunning criminals involved in this had escaped. Amidst this Sherlock suddenly received a WhatsApp message and looked at it casually.

It was from Jim.

It was the photograph of an empty bottle of anti-depressants, ones with a very high dosage of sedatives in them and meant for consumption under the guidance of a registered and qualified medical practitioner only. They were no over-the-counter medicine and certainly not meant to be played around with. Even four or five of those could be fatal if taken at the same time. And Jim had emptied the whole fucking bottle.

_Fuck, what if I don’t reach on time? I have to call an ambulance there, along with paramedics, in case he needs CPR. I have to….._ He must have made an odd noise because everyone in the room reacted. John stood up from his chair in alarm, Lestrade almost dropped his phone out of the start he got, Anthea jumped a bit in her seat and Mycroft asked sharply, “What’s going on Lockie? Aren’t you concentrating on this…..”

Without answering the question the handsome sleuth ran off from there in a hurry, making up some excuse about an upset stomach or something else that didn’t even register in his own head. He left the important discussion half way and without even giving his abrupt departure a second thought, a fact that didn’t escape his sharp-eyed older sibling.

“John?”

“Yes Mycroft?”

“What was that? It was James, wasn’t it?”

“Um…. Yeah, it presumably was.”

Greg Lestrade and Anthea looked at each other, said they wanted to take a short break and have some tea and left the room to give them some privacy to discuss this. While they worked closely with the Holmes brothers, neither of them were as close to them as John Watson was. Their presence was definitely not needed at this point of time.

“John,” Mycroft asked, “How long has this been going on? This is the third time Sherlock had left a case or an important meeting right in the middle, not returned for several hours. This isn’t the Sherlock we know. So please tell me whatever you know.”

***

Sherlock came with a strangled cry, deep in Jim’s mouth.

His body was almost on fire and even with that release it didn’t seem like the fire was about to be put out anytime soon. Sexual desire and an unquenchable lust for Jim was replaced by the anger he had felt when he landed up there.

He was outraged when he had found that Jim had ‘never meant to post a pic of the bottle’ but the pic of the ‘handmade photo frame’ next to it. Jim’s explanation was that he could have called rather than arrive straight away and with the paramedics and ambulance on his tail. They had argued, then kissed, then started making love and Jim had more than compensated Sherlock for this efforts with an amazing blowjob.

“I want to fuck you,” Jim said softly, stroking his rock hard erection.

“Apparently,” Sherlock feigned indifference but his cock was already jerking back to life. Minutes later, ss he lay on his front with Jim fucking him and getting him on the edge again, Sherlock was wracked with both guilt and self-directed anger. Leaving that meeting was unprofessional and irresponsible and he felt annoyed with himself for always being at Jim’s beck and call. He hated being manipulated by this man just as much as he loved making love to him or spending time with him.

Jim’s grunts rose to a feverish pitch and he felt the familiar burst of warmth inside him as Jim came hard. He followed seconds later and they both lay panting for several minutes afterwards, Sherlock slowly coming back to that state of agitation he felt before and Jim dozing off.

Sherlock gently pushed Jim off and sat up. Jim looked at him blankly, sleepy and heavy lidded eyes struggling to stay open.

“Do you realize that one day if the threat to your life is actually true, and hopefully that never happens, but just for hypothesis, if there is a genuine need for my help I might not even answer your call. I might think it’s a prank, a mistake.”

Jim grinned like a Cheshire cat, “I can look after myself Sherlock. And why won’t you answer my call? You love me, don’t you?”

Sherlock froze. He wanted to say a ‘yes’ but couldn’t answer Jim that day. Matters of sex were one thing, it was all carnal and momentary and temporary. Matters of the heart were not his forte, he was just not built for that. If Jim felt bad about his silence, he didn’t mention it. 

***

After that day Jim made several attempts like that and Sherlock fell for it, even if reluctantly and with a lot of trepidation, but he answered each time.

Each and every time he found that it was a trick from Jim or one of his playful, naughty and childish pranks.

But every single time he did that, his confidence and faith on Jim’s messages and calls eroded just a little bit until he reached a point where he no longer cared. When Jim was being truthful and honest and sent him a message saying, ‘booty call, come as quickly as you can’ he dashed over to be with him but when he sent a message saying, ‘Help me, I am in trouble, they will burn me alive’, he paid little heed to the threat that was implied.

_It must be a prank again._

The message arrived one late afternoon, right in the middle of an important event It was Mycroft’s ceremony that day and they were at Buckingham palace, where the elder sibling was receiving his Knighthood. “What’s the matter,” John asked when he saw Sherlock casting suspicious glances at his phone and fidgeting on his seat as if there were ants in his pants, “Something important that you must attend to right away? Can’t it wait until this is over, we are in the middle of Mycroft’s……”

“It isn’t important.”

“Oh thank God.”

“This can wait.”

“Good boy, that’s the spirit.”

A nagging and niggling worry itched at the back of Sherlock’s mind despite his outward sternness and determination to continue watching the ceremony and participate in the high tea afterwards. Not that Sherlock cared much for these things but it was Mycroft’s special day, his parents were also here, John had been warning him about these ‘fake danger signals’ from Jim and he himself was quite fed up of being taken advantage of.

When the tea party was on, he purposefully didn’t check the further messages that came in. He didn’t even answer the two or three calls that landed on his phone. Whatever it was, it could wait. It had to wait.

“Guess what, I think it’s about time you told me about your boyfriend my dear,” his mother Eugenia Holmes said as they drank tea and ate pastries and crepes post-ceremony. Sherlock wasn’t hungry and had eaten nothing but a single bite of one pastry, but the Queen and the Prince of Wales seated only two tables away from them on the immaculately landscaped grounds of the Queen’s London residence and it was important that they follow some decorum.

_More than that, he didn’t want to be manipulated anymore._

“Yes mummy,” he said after she gave him a long meaningful look in return for his stoic silence, “I will introduce you to him very soon.” And he did intend to do so. He wanted to formalize his relationship with Jim and let Jim move in with him or maybe could move into one of Jim’s homes, whatever worked. He had bought a ring and decided on a fancy restaurant where he could propose.

He knew Jim would accept.

This would bring all the drama to an end. Jim needn’t be insecure, needy or grab his attention with the fake threats and double entendre messages. As his husband, Jim would always have constant and intimate access to him and his business.

That would automatically stop these slightly silly gimmicks.

The high-tea eventually ended, much to Sherlock’s relief. There was only so much socializing that he could tolerate. Once they were walking towards the car park, a Scotland Yard officer came running towards them. Sherlock had a strange feeling, a weird sensation in his heart, one that he had never felt before. Jim often told him that when one was in love and the loved one was in danger or they were about to be lost forever, one would have a weird sensation in the stomach, a tightness in the chest and a lump in the throat. One could even see images and glimpses of their lover even if they weren’t around. Sherlock had laughed about it but that never deterred Jim from claiming its truth.

Sherlock felt all those things right now.

“Mr. Holmes…..”

“Is it Jim... I mean Richard Brooke?”

“You better come with us right away.”

Sherlock had already started running half way through that sentence. He was cursing himself inside for believing John, believing Mycroft, ignoring those messages, not answering those calls. Why hadn’t he listened to his gut? Why did he get influenced by what others said?

***

Jim’s charred remains were sent for autopsy. The tests proved it was indeed him. His enemies had sneaked up on him as he jogged at a nearby park, dragged him into a garage and set him on fire there after keeping him locked in there for a while.

Sherlock cursed and berated himself for ever thinking that Jim could be safe. He had deadly enemies of course. No crime boss who gave up crime was ever safe from his former life or the former aides-turned enemies.

All those texts had been real. Begging him, imploring him to come, to save him. The calls were from the Yard, telling him what had happened. He had ignored them all. He had been eating and drinking tea while Jim was dying. The worst was that the last text typed on Jim’s phone but never sent said ‘I am not kidding this time Sherly, please…..’ Jim would have waited until the last breath…..

Sherlock went into shock.

He retained enough composure to sit through the post mortem reports and further analysis, the cremation, funeral services and finally the distribution of Jim’s estate. Most of it went to the state but, according to Jim’s wishes and his final will, some went into rehabilitating former criminals, some into psychiatric studies, some to help math geniuses with their scholarship and a small portion to Sherlock. But even the small portion was huge. A country house and a flat, a few million in fixed deposits and bonds, some rare books and paintings and a Stradivarius which was supposed to be Sherlock’s gift for his next birthday.

Once all that was done, Sherlock overdosed. After spending a week in ICU and several weeks in rehab he locked himself up at home for three months. When he finally emerged from he shadow of his guilt, he started working like a machine so he could forget. He knew he would never be able to. He also knew he would never fall in love or even think about marrying someone again.

***

“Boss, are you alright?”

Blue eyes scanned the man staring out of the window, a soulful and wistful look on his face.

Jim felt those eyes on him and looked at Sebastian Moran, his deputy and most trusted lieutenant. Seb was offering him a glass of champagne as they sat in their newly acquired private jet, a 30 million luxury piece that was flying them from Colombo to Sydney. Besides this recent purchase, there were a spate of other items the two men had bought. Starting with a three hundred feet luxury yacht, stakes in many prospering companies, art and jewels and several opulent homes across the world. “Yes, I am fine, thanks,” Jim said curtly, “Whatever made you think I might not be?”

“Just checking.”

“I’m fine.”

“They were stupid to think that your wealth could be so little. Only five hundred million? Hah! We had six times that amount hidden away from their eyes and reach. Honestly speaking, I didn’t really think you’d be able to give them the slip, that too within a year. I was bored out of my mind sitting in Australia alone, no work at all. I missed you a lot and I missed those days when we were up to so much mischief together.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, “They didn’t suspect one bit, did they? You don’t suppose they will send someone after us, would they?”

Jim snorted at that suggestion.

“Six months have passed and there’s nothing I have heard or has been reported to me that suggests otherwise. I had paid enough people and manipulated documents with enough precision to make it look real. Even the DNA reports were forged so cleverly no one would ever know. Maybe they could have smelled a rat but then….. You see Sebby, when people get emotional they lose sight of reason. Sherlock fell in love with me and lost it. His brother is wrecked by the guilt he feels for his brother’s condition and hence he too lost the plot.”

“And here we are, back to the _thug life?”_

  
“And here we are,” Jim murmured distractedly, _“Back to the thug life.”_

The lure of this life had been so strong that Jim had to device this clever plot to end things on a conclusive note. Running away wouldn’t have helped, they would have hunted him down. Tricking them was not an option either, they were too intelligent to be fooled for too long. Killing them wasn’t on the agenda ever, he didn’t want those brilliant Holmes boys dead. Just as they wanted to preserve him and his genius, he wanted to return the same favor towards them.

“Seriously boss,” Sebastian sipped from the champagne flute, “Not that I didn’t have faith on you but….. Often I was worried that you might have fallen for him just as he’d fallen for you.”

Jim saw a flash of Sherlock’s reflection in the window pane and turned with a gasp. Nope, the detective wasn’t there. It was his imagination, _again_. “I acted well enough to win a gong!”

“So you did. You made that iceberg melt.”

“He and I had lots and lots in common. Why wouldn’t he melt? I knew him and he understood me too. Both of us love puzzles, history, cricket, crosswords, chemistry, mathematics, analysis and invention, art, anagrams, debating over the economic situation in the world and the chances of war or about the origins of Italian cuisine… what is the matter now? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sebastian gave him a knowing smile, “Just wondering if you were talking about someone you tricked and left behind or someone you are still in love with.”

“Shut the fuck up or I will become the same Moriarty who never hesitated to use the knife, even on his right-hand-man.”

“Okay, okay, peace,” Sebastian raised both hands in a gesture of defeat, “Please drink your champagne boss. Many titans almost died in getting this crate of Dom Perignon to us, on time.”

Jim sipped his champagne and winced slightly. He loosened his tie, then stretched his legs and took a few deep breaths. He was physically in top condition, fit and healthy and agile, and yet as Sebastian spoke about Sherlock he had begun to feel a bit unwell. _His stomach was turning, his chest tightened and he felt choked as if something was lodged in this throat._


End file.
